A Crack in the Door
by ladyrostova
Summary: Barrett/Dorothy one-shot. Catalogue of important moments.


He wanted to protect her. He never wanted to protect anyone but he wanted to protect her. Take her in his arms. Hold her close. Feel her breathing. Feel her skin. Soft, like a rose petal. Pink, like a cherry blossom. Smell her. Sweet, intoxicating, mesmerizing. Her scent intermingling with his until they became one under his skin. Safe, only for him to enjoy. A private treasure. A simple joy.

Barrett oftentimes could not understand his feelings for Dorothy. Feelings made in his childhood, borne to the present. A racing pulse. A rush of blood. Sweat on his palms. Fever in his heart. It was maddening. _She_ was maddening. So quiet, so shy. Never let him in. Not as much as he wanted. A crack in the door, not an open invitation. Almost as if he spent his entire life trying to open it. Almost as if he could only be satisfied when he knew her, really _knew _her.

But he didn't. But he _would_. Wouldn't rest until he did. Wouldn't die until he did.

'Dor,' he would call one day. Pet name he gave her in her girlhood. Pet name that made her blush, which was half the reason he always used it. 'Where do you want to be in five years?'

'Oh, I-I don't know, really…' she would answer, staring at the ground. The way she always did. 'I like it h-here well enough. Maybe I could be a nurse by then.'

A crack in the door. 'It's your dream to be a nurse, isn't it?'

'It would be nice, I think…' she would get that look in her eye, that spark of life. That twinkle of what was behind the door.

Barrett would fall into a silence. Thinking about her hopes, her dreams. Wondering how to make them real. Wondering how to make her happy. Wanting desperately to see her smile. Always. Then that new guy came into town. Caught Dorothy's eye, he thought. Then it wasn't Barrett and his Dor any longer. It was Barrett, Dor, and _him_. Barrett was selfish. And Dorothy was his. And Barrett didn't want to share.

One day, he would ask her, 'Do you like him?' _Him_. The new guy.

And one day, she would answer, 'N-no, not really… like _that_, I mean. Besides, doesn't he like Julia? He does spend an awful lot of t-time at the bathhouse, anyway…' She would stare at her feet. Fiddle with Fern. Bite her lip. 'W-why do you want to know…?'

He was quiet and said nothing for a long while. He too looked at his feet. He looked at the pews in front of him. He looked at the organ in the corner. He looked at the altar. He looked at anything but what he _wanted_ to look at, _her_.

She did not press him. When he got quiet she got quiet too. Perhaps this was why they were such good friends. So close. Understood one another like no one else. Understood the silence. Embraced it. Just Barrett, Dorothy, and silence. More words spoken in silence than in sound.

One day, when Barrett told their children the story of how he married Dorothy, he would reflect on the days when silence was the only way they talked. How he had been jealous of the new farmer. How he had known since he was a boy that he would marry Dorothy. How the new farmer had challenged that. How defeated Barrett had felt. Unworthy, rejected. And Leonel would ask, 'But mommy didn't love him, did she?' To which Dorothy would reply, 'No. She only loved your daddy. No one else, ever.' Leonel would clap his hands and cry out, 'Daddy sure was silly back then!'

'Yes he was,' Barrett would say. 'Silly and scared.'

And he had been.

Barrett remembered the day he asked Dorothy to marry him. He had been planning it for weeks. Gotten her father's blessing. Even her sister Cammy's. Had a ring. Even caught her a nice fish, her favorite. Most boys brought flowers but Barrett brought a fish. He wanted to be different. Better. The new farmer was charming and Barrett was not. He had to be better.

He had waited for her by the cherry blossoms. Drifting along the sky, landing on his face, arms, hands. Soft like kisses. Soft like Dorothy's skin. She was on her way home from the clinic. Tired, worn. Sad because he had been too shy to ask her to dance yesterday at the festival. Clinging to Fern, a doll to take her mother's place.

One day he would protect her, hold her. She wouldn't need Fern because she would have _him_. He would make her feel safe. Wanted.

That day was coming sooner than he'd thought.

She saw him, smiled weakly, looked away. Hid her eyes like usual. He caught her arm, too rough for she was fragile. But it got her attention and she looked at him instead of at the ground. And he managed a shaky smile and he produced the ring. And she said yes and he felt like flying.

He picked her up, spun her like he did when they were young. She, so delicate. He, too strong for his own good. Like the first time they made love, a pile of blankets and her underneath. So afraid of hurting her, breaking her. Dorothy had guided him and gave him permission and he hung on her every word. Listened and followed. Desperate to please her. Gentle. He lay with her and the world was on fire. He lay with her and his soul could soar. And in the morning when they awoke in a tangle of limbs and he kissed her head and whispered, 'I love you' she took his hand and placed it on her heart and she said, 'It beats for you' and he believed her because his heart beat for her too.

Barrett wouldn't know until he got through the door that Dorothy was stronger than him. Loving, kind. She lost her mother and she took everyone in. He lost his mother and he pushed everyone out. He was broken and she knew this. Shattered into a thousand pieces and she collected each one. Put him back together with a kiss. Sometimes he thought he could not protect her. Sometimes he thought she protected _him_. The truth was they protected each other. Always had. Knew each other better than they knew themselves. Loved each other too.

It would be two years into their marriage before Barrett would hold her and realize that he _did_ know her. Been through the door forever and just hadn't known. She told him her story in silence. And in silence did he hear it and rejoice. When they were married he would see this and know, whenever he looked in her eyes, he could see into her heart. In her eyes was an open door and each day it led to a different room. Much to learn but much _already_ learned. He knew her privately, secretly. He knew her silently. He knew her like nobody else because nobody else understood the silence like he did. He knew this and he was proud.

And on the day his father died Barrett felt nothing and he told this to Dorothy and he was ashamed. She took his hand and held it fast and put it to his heart and said 'Yes you do' and he believed her because he felt his heart beat against his palm and he knew he felt _something_. She had held him that night as he cried and she had wiped away his tears along with his regrets and she had told him 'He loved you and you loved him and that's what matters most now' and he believed her because she was right and he could not take back the past.

Days like this came and went in the years of their marriage. Special days, sad days, sweet days, bad days. Through it all there was one constant and that was their love. And on the day she died he took her hand and put it on his heart and said 'It beats for you' and she had smiled for the last time and he had put fish on her grave because most boys brought flowers but he brought fish. He would sit by her headstone and watch the cherry blossoms fall and remember the taste of her skin, the soft swell of her flesh. Pink like her cheeks.

And on the day he died he saw a door and behind it was Dorothy and he ran to her and she took his hand and though Leonel had cried Barrett was happy.

He took her hand and she looked in his eyes and in the silence they were one again.


End file.
